


i tried to go- to follow- to kneel down at your feet

by moonsrain



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dom/sub, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nonsexual Dom/sub, Relationship Negotiation, Rope Bondage, Service Kink, aromantic Pike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 14:46:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsrain/pseuds/moonsrain
Summary: An eventful evening out with Vox Machina ends with Scanlan revealing more of his true thoughts to Pike than he usually would; Pike, as usual, surprises him with her reaction.





	

It starts, as so many of Scanlan’s problems have started over the years, in a bar. The whole of Vox Machina is out enjoying a rare weekend free of obligations, monsters, or problems of any variety, at a tavern that is technically slumming it given that they’re almost respectable citizens these days, but old habits die hard and the dimly lit, smoky interior feels far more comfortable than any of the more reputable establishments they’ve visited. Vex, Vax, and Percy are engaged in a heated darts competition over who’s going to buy the next round, with Pike and Grog egging each of them on in turn, while Scanlan himself is perched on a high stool at the bar next to an already giggly-drunk Keyleth, making her laugh by making increasingly outrageous and unfavorable comparisons between the tavern’s band and various unpleasant and ridiculous creatures that Vox Machina has encountered in their copious dungeon delving.

As a new song starts up, Scanlan orders a new drink (only his second of the night- a pint lasts a long time at his size, and Scanlan prefers not to get too sloppy when there’s a chance any time his family goes out that they might have to fight their way out of the bar) and is preparing to compare the band’s bassist to a Feebleminded orangutan, hoping to get Keyleth to snort ale up her nose laughing, when someone’s elbow knocks hard into the back of his head. Levity abruptly killed, Scanlan turns and yells “I’m short, not invisible, asshole!” at a human man’s retreating back, but gets no response from the offender. He turns with a huff of irritation back to Keyleth, who winces sympathetically at him, and takes a pull from his drink to soothe his wounded head and pride.

The darts contest has devolved into Grog trying to aim the tiny darts with his massive hands, and more often than not his darts clatter off the wall rather than stick into the board, while Vax goads him on, Percy tries earnestly to explain the proper technique for dart throwing in intentionally unhelpful terms that he knows Grog will misinterpret, and Pike cheers enthusiastically at even Grog’s worst efforts. Vex saunters over to sit on Keyleth’s other side, well out of accidental striking range of Grog’s enormous wingspan, and snickers loudly as her twin is forced to throw himself flat to evade a dart gone wide. As the shenanigans continue, Scanlan is content to lean back against the bar and enjoy the company, the warm room, and the really quite excellent ale, which sends a delightful warm fizz through his guts and eases the tension from his body.

Eventually Scanlan needs to piss, and sets his pint back on the bar to hop down from his stool. It is only then that he realizes that he is really very, very drunk, as the world tilts at a crazed angle around him and he puts out a suddenly-clumsy hand to steady himself against the bar. Keyleth, herself far gone at this point, looks down at him with worry.

“Y’ alrigh’ there, Scanl’n?” she asks, slurring her words together.

“M’ fine,” he replies, “Need t’ piss, s’all. Be righ...  _ right _ back.” Part of his brain is distantly alarmed to realize he’s equally as mushmouthed as his druid friend, but anxiety can’t seem to penetrate the warm haze that wraps around him, and it’s not like he hasn’t been sloppy drunk before, just not in a while. It’ll be fine, a hangover won’t kill him.

Steadying himself on the wall, Scanlan stumbles his way out to the back alley rather than deal with the long lines for what will inevitably be a stinking, overfull privy too large to comfortably use. As he pushes open the back door a cool night breeze swirls past him, soothing the flush high in his face and cooling the sweat beaded on his brow. He makes his way a reasonable distance from the threshold, turns to the wall, and undoes his breeches to take a long, satisfying piss against the stonework.

He’s just done up his pants again when he hears a heavy tread on the flagstones behind him. He reaches for his sword but he seems to have slowed, dreamlike, and his hand doesn’t even reach the hilt before a gloved hand claps down over his lower face and he’s lifted bodily up and pressed against the torso of someone much larger, his assailant’s other arm coming around to press viciously into his windpipe, cutting off his air. Scanlan flails and kicks, but one arm is pinned and the other tangled in the flashy duelist’s cloak that Scanlan had thought so stylish when he’d dressed for the evening, and his kicks connect with flesh but are so sluggish and ineffectual he might as well kick the stone wall of the building. The hand over his mouth prevents him from singing, screaming, or casting any magic which might help him, and not for the first time Scanlan curses his size, his poor perception, and his shit fucking luck, as his vision starts to darken at the edges, his whole body screaming for air.

At the edge of consciousness Scanlan hears a meaty thud, and the pressure on his throat is gone as suddenly as it came. Too stunned to catch himself as he falls from his attacker’s now slack grip, he crashes hard to the ground and lies gasping through his bruised throat, turning his head to try to see what’s happened.

A flutter of black in the dim blue-grey alley is Vax, striking out with his daggers in reverse grip so as not to kill, but he’s ruthlessly effective even hitting with the pommels, each strike to a sensitive area eliciting a gasp of pain. Scanlan’s assailant turns out to be the human man who’d jostled him earlier, a nondescript bearded fellow in similar clothes to Vax’s, but less well made, marking him as one of the lesser thieves and brigands common to any large city. The rest of Vox Machina pour through behind Vax in quick succession. Keyleth is too drunk to do much besides cling to the doorframe, but Vex and Percy take up position on either side of Vax and the brigand, checking the ends of the alley for any possible allies the man might have. Grog’s eyes are red with rage, and he charges forward to slug the man hard across the jaw, then kick him in his kneecap, which breaks with an audible snap. As the brigand goes down Grog keeps kicking him with all his formidable strength, in the stomach, in the chest, in the groin, until Vax has to interpose himself between their goliath friend and the fallen human to prevent Grog from murdering the man outright.

Pike, seeing that their friends have the situation well in hand, hurries to kneel by Scanlan’s side and presses glowing hands into his shoulders, the hot-then-cool sensation of her healing magic repairing the bruises on his throat and body, though his perception continues to slide from focus to focus like butter on a hot skillet. He grins weakly up at Pike, who flashes him a quick smile in return and then goes back to briskly checking him over for any further injury. The fine hairs around her face have slid out of their careful braids after a day of wear and shine softly in the dim light that filters into the alley, and she has the short hard crease between her brows that mean she’s really worried, which in this moment Scanlan finds incredibly endearing and attractive. She looks like something from a song, although at the moment he finds he’s much too dizzy and unfocused to string together pretty words the way he usually would.

“Thanks, Pikey,” he manages, “Was really ‘n trouble there.”

“No need for thanks, Scanlan,” she says, still intent on checking Scanlan for damage. “How are you feeling?”

“‘M  _ fine _ ,” he slurs, “He didn’ even stab me or nuthin’ yet-” and then he loses the thread of his speech entirely and stares up into the dark sky for a long moment, breath hitching as his giddy brain catches up with him and presents any number of alternate futures, each worse than the last. Panic makes an appearance at last and sweeps through him with a prickling of gooseflesh across his whole body and uncontrollable shivers. It could be really risky, being a gnome in a big city, and you heard stories about what could happen. Even without someone choking him, Scanlan feels like he can’t catch his breath.

Pike’s hands on either side of his face bring him back to earth. “Breathe with me, Scanlan,” she commands in a sterner voice than usual, and it doesn’t even occur to him to disobey as he follows along with the slow rise and fall of Pike’s chest. Behind her he’s dimly aware of Vex and Vax binding the brigand’s arms behind him and manhandling him off down the alley, presumably to find a constable to whom they can hand him off. Grog sits down heavily on the ground, exhaustion creeping in as the rage wears off, and Keyleth now leans heavily on Percy, who still scans the alley and roofline for any signs of further disturbance.

Scanlan gets his breathing back down to normal around the time the twins return, but as Pike helps him to his feet he finds that he’s still horribly dizzy, and he clings desperately to her pauldrons as his knees go out from under him, but she’s more than strong enough to support his full weight and catches him easily.

“Scanlan?!” she cries in alarm.

“‘M okay,” he mutters. Keeping his head up straight seems like far too much effort, so he lets it loll onto his shoulder, tries halfheartedly to get his feet under him.

“What’s wrong with him?” asks Vax from somewhere to the left.

“I don’t know,” says Pike, “I healed all his physical wounds, there must be something else going on.”

“Here, let me,” says Vex, and Scanlan feels Vex’s long cool fingers on the sides of his neck and the spearmint tingle of her magic washing through him. “Hmm,” Vex says finally, “It doesn’t seem to be a poison or my spell would have cleared it up, but there’s definitely  _ something _ in his system. I’d guess that asshole slipped something in his drink earlier to make it easier to overpower him.”

“Yeah,” Keyleth chimes in, “Thass th’ same guy that bumped into Scanl’n at th’ bar earlier.”

“Slimy bastard,” Grog growls, climbing to his feet again. “Shoulda let me kill him.”

The residual panic fading, Scanlan feels an overwhelming surge of affection for his little family. In the darkened alley, his senses still muffled by the warm haze that wraps him, they seem like the only real people in the world, and in that moment it seems only logical to share what feels like revelation to Scanlan.

“Love you guys,” he manages, and that doesn’t really cover it, he’ll have to come up with something better when he’s not so fuzzy. “M’ family. Saved me, kep’ me safe. Y’r all wonnerful.”

Keyleth giggles and mutters a soft “Love you too, Scanl’n, love everybody,” while Vex and Vax exchange identical raised-brow expressions of bemused surprise, and Grog leans down to softly ruffle Scanlan’s hair. Pike smiles a little, but the crease between her brows stays put, and she starts saying something but Scanlan loses the thread of it, mind jumping from the glimmering light on her armor beneath his fingers to the smell of her sweat, pungent enough from long days in armor to be unpleasant if he didn’t associate it so strongly with everything else that was Pike.

“‘M sorry,” he blurts out, before he even realizes he meant to speak. “Shouldn’a been so stupid. ‘M a big dumb idiot ‘n now you’re all worried, Pike, y’got that lil’...  _ thing _ ‘tween your eyebrows, means you’re worried.” He lifts a hand to try to touch the offending crease but halfway up it seems like too much effort and he lets it flop back down again. “Don’ wanna worry you, don’ wanna upset you. Jus’ wanna be good for you, Pikey.” Scanlan realizes his eyes have slid closed at some point and jerks them open again. His family is looking at him with the oddest expressions, but he’s too comfortable right where he is to worry about it. Pike is a solid rock he can cling to while everything else shifts around him like ocean waves, so he doesn’t have to worry.

Vax is talking, Scanlan realizes belatedly, and tunes in to hear “...should get him home, I think our night out’s over now.” Scanlan makes an agreeable noise. Home sounds wonderful, he loves their home. He makes a less agreeable noise when he realizes going home means  _ walking _ , and after several false starts Grog simply picks him up and, after a moment’s conference that Scanlan doesn’t quite catch, picks up Pike as well, tucking both gnomes easily into the crook of one massive arm, Scanlan leaning back against Pike’s breastplate. Behind them the twins lift Keyleth’s arms over their shoulders to help her home.

Scanlan turns in towards Grog’s chest a little, resting his feverish cheek on the cool metal of Pike’s armor, and let’s his eyes flutter closed, not really sleeping but no longer wanting to exert the effort of looking at things. The urge to talk is still on him and he sees no reason why not to ramble on at length to Pike about how wonderful she is, probably his favorite topic of conversation after how wonderful he himself is, only he’s not feeling so wonderful at the moment.

“Y’r so wonderful, Pike. Y’know what I like abou’ you? Y’r so good, but y’re not like, only good. Y’know howta have fun, y’gotta sense of humor. ‘S quiet sometimes, so people don’ see it, but we’ve been friends a long time now, an’ I know when y’r laughin’ on the inside. See when y’r sad deep down too. Y’r good at hidin’ it, almos’ as good as me, s’why I can tell, cause I do it too.

“Y’deserve t’be happy, Pikey. I wanna make you happy. All this time I been chasin’ you an’ you been so nice to me, but you don’ gotta. I just wan’ y’to tell me what t’do. Anythin’ at all. ‘D bring you gold an’ gems, if y’want, or, or, could lick y’r boots clean, or write you a song. Jus’ tell me what t’do and I’d do it, ‘m jus’ waitin’ but you never say what  _ you _ want so I jus try ‘n get y’r attention.” Scanlan finally peters out, feeling wrung dry in a strangely good way, like a weight that’s off his shoulders. Pike is silent behind him, and he wishes he could see her face, but opening his eyes and moving his head enough to look seems like the world’s most colossal effort. “Pike?” he asks finally.

“Shh, Scanlan,” she says, voice soft but firm. “Go to sleep.”

Scanlan obeys without further thought, drifting down into the warm dark currents of slumber, knowing he is perfectly safe.

  
  
  
  
  


Scanlan wakes up and enjoys a moment of sleepy self-indulgence before he remembers how last night’s carousing had ended, bolts upright in bed out of sheer mortification, and immediately comes to terms with the worst hangover he’s had in at least a decade. His low moan as he clutches at his pounding head wakes Grog, who has apparently been sleeping on Scanlan’s floor for some godsforsaken reason.

“You all right, Scanlan?” Grog asks, with enough sense to keep his voice pitched low and relatively soft.

“My head is killing me,” Scanlan whines, then adds, “I’m getting too old for this shit,” mostly for the sake of complaining. He may be a fair bit older than the rest of the group, but he’s not even middle-aged by gnomish standards.

“I can go get Pike,” Grog offers, standing, but Scanlan hastily cuts him off.

“No, no, that’s alright, no need to bother her. I just need some water and a little while to shake off the hangover.” Grog claps a large hand over Scanlan’s back and shoulders and gives a quick, friendly squeeze.

“We were worried about you. Didn’t know what that bastard slipped in your drink, so I stayed close in case something happened while you was sleeping.. ‘M glad you’re okay, buddy.” Scanlan manages a weak smile for his goliath friend as Grog pours him a mug of water from the bedside pitcher and leaves the room, but drops the expression as soon as he’s alone.

Ye gods, he feels like shit. Bad enough to get roofied like some new-to-town hayseed, bad enough to get jumped in an alley and nearly killed or abducted or gods-knew-what, the things he had  _ said. _ To  _ Pike _ . He hoped fervently that she would write it off as more of his usual bullshit, even though everything he’d said- at least, everything he remembered saying- had been crystalline truth. The way he felt about Pike honestly scared him sometimes with its intensity, and it was easier to just keep the masks up, goad Pike with honeyed words and empty platitudes that kept her guessing enough that she wouldn’t see past it to his raw heart.

The truth was, Scanlan didn’t really believe that Pike was his true love, couldn’t see them ever settling down in a cottage somewhere to raise little gnomish babies; it just wasn’t either of their styles. Did he want her? Of course, how could anyone see Pike, with her kindness and her enthusiasm for life, her battle frenzy and her wicked humor, and not want to bask in her glow, warm in her presence like a crackling hearth or a fine whiskey. Did he deserve her? Of course not. Scanlan could bullshit to everyone but himself, and for all his admirable qualities, and there were many, he just fundamentally wasn’t the kind of person who got what he wanted. He’d fucked up too many times in the past, been unkind for the hell of it too often, stolen and lied and never felt particularly sorry about it beyond a vague impression that he  _ should _ . If bad shit came his way, well, it was probably just the justice of the universe paying him back, and so Scanlan generally avoided staying put long enough for things to catch up to him.

Eventually his headache subsides enough that he thinks he could venture downstairs and try to get some food in his unsettled stomach. His family is lounging in the great hall amidst the remains of a late breakfast, and greet him with enthusiastic relief followed immediately by no small amount of ribbing and jokes at his expense. Scanlan’s pride is stung slightly, but he’s been with Vox Machina long enough to know that this is how they cope with fear and anxiety. Besides, Vax’s vaudevillian impression of Scanlan’s assailant is genuinely funny, Vax crooking clawed fingers in the direction of Percy-as-Scanlan, who resolutely ignores Vax in favor of more coffee.

Scanlan glances nervously in Pike’s direction a few times, expecting to find her reserved or put off by his embarrassing admission last night, but she grins at him with her usual mirth and joins in the group’s good natured teasing. Scanlan lets himself hope that Pike has indeed written off his drunken rambling as more of his usual bullshit. 

 

That hope lasts almost the whole day, until Scanlan’s cleaning his shawm after dinner and hears a polite rapping at his bedroom door.

He opens it to find Pike standing, barefoot and unarmored for once, with a peculiar thoughtful expression on her face that sends a spike of nervousness through Scanlan. He covers by executing an elaborate courtier’s bow to Pike.

“Pike, my darling! I thought the sun had already set, but clearly I was mistaken, since here you are in my doorway. What can I do for you?”

Pike takes a half step forward, expression inscrutable. “Can I come in, Scanlan? I’d like to talk to you privately.”

Scanlan schools his expression to a pleasant smile despite the ice running down his spine. “Of course, come in, come in.” Pike walks forward and Scanlan closes the door behind her; if this talk goes poorly, he’d rather they weren’t overheard. He takes a deep breath where Pike still can’t see his face and readies a blatant come-on in hopes of deflecting the tension in the air as he turns back to her with his best working-the-room smile.

“Pike, if you wanted some alone time with me you only had to ask-”

“Scanlan.”

Pike’s voice rings out against the stone walls of the room, rich with a commanding authority that Scanlan is only used to hearing from her on the battlefield or in the temple. She stands straight and confident beside the table and chairs Scanlan keeps for entertaining company, looking like a general or a high priestess even in her simple tunic and breeches, dirt from the keep’s garden still on her feet and smudged on one cheek.

“Sit down.”

The simple command has enough weight behind it that it almost feels like a spell, and the smile drops off Scanlan’s face as he fights the impulse to drop to his knees where he stands. He doesn’t know where Pike is going with this, but the air in the room feels electrified, the fine hairs on his arms and neck standing up. Scanlan walks across to the table, the five or six feet feeling like miles, trying to look nonchalant even as Pike’s steady gaze seems to see straight through his pretense. Pike pulls out one of the chairs for Scanlan and he sits gratefully, his knees still weak, as Pike takes the chair beside him rather than across the table.

“Pikey?” Scanlan has to wet his lips and swallow before he can get the word out. His mouth has gone cottony and dry.

“I think, Scanlan, that we should talk about some of the things you said to me last night.” Scanlan wants to die, that’s it, he wants to die and be dead and not be having this conversation.

“I’m so sorry, Pike, I know it was inappropriate and I wouldn’t have said anything if I hadn’t been-”

“ _ Scanlan _ .” Once more, the strength of his name alone is enough to shut him up. “Please don’t. I know you weren’t in your right mind last night, but I think you said some things that are true and that we should talk about. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to, and we don’t ever have to talk about it again after this evening if you don’t want to, but please, right now, only tell me the truth. As a favor to me.” Pike reaches out and takes ahold of his hand, and Scanlan cautiously meets her eyes and sees no judgement in their blue depths.

“Okay,” he whispers.

“You said that you wanted to be good for me, and that you wanted to make me happy. Is that true?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You also said that you were waiting for me to tell you what to do. That you  _ want _ me to tell you what to do. Is that true also?”

Scanlan can feel heat rising in his cheeks, and oh gods, is he  _ blushing _ ? He hasn’t blushed in years now, and he thinks he would melt right into the floor if it weren’t for Pike’s gaze pinning him in place.

“...yes,” he breathes, hardly daring to make noise and disrupt this fragile moment.

“Okay,” says Pike, and grins, an expression that Scanlan has seen on her before, usually just before someone finds themselves shocked and scandalized that a cleric of Sarenrae knows that kind of language, and Scanlan finds himself nervous but thrilled to be on the receiving end of that expression. Whatever Pike is about to say, it certainly won’t be boring.

“So here’s the thing. You’ve been... courting me, for a while now. I don’t know if that’s really something that I want, with you or with anyone, not right now and maybe not ever. But telling you what to do? I can do that. I’d like to do that, for you. Not romance, and not as a sex thing, at least not right now, but I could be in charge of you, if you want. You could relax, and not have to be the one with his shit together all the time. You could just be mine for a while.”

Scanlan stares at Pike with wide eyes. He feels exposed, laid open; Pike has just casually offered to fulfill a desire that Scanlan has barely dared to name even in the privacy of his own thoughts. He feels himself shaking with how much he wants what Pike is offering, and realizes he’s holding his breath. He inhales with a shaky gasp.

“What do you think?” Pike asks, nervousness creeping into her voice.

“Holy shit, Pike,” he manages. Pike puts a finger under his chin and tilts his head back up to meet her gaze.

“I need a real answer, Scanlan,” and there’s steel in her voice again. Scanlan straightens his posture reflexively.

“Yes, Pike,” he says breathily. “I’d like that... tremendously.”

“Good boy,” Pike smiles brilliantly, and strokes her hand from his chin to his brow, then ruffles her fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut and he leans into the touch as she scratches softly behind his ear and then withdraws her hand. Without even thinking he whines gently at the loss of contact, and then blushes again as he realizes what he’s done. Gods, he feels like he’s 16 and fumbling around with his first boyfriend again, with no idea what he’s doing but just chasing any good sensation.

“I have some ideas about what we could do- tonight, even, if you want- but I want to set some ground rules first, okay?”

Scanlan blinks, trying to gather his senses. Pike’s got a point, if he’s this far gone already they’re definitely going to need some rules for anything more. It may not be sex but it’s got his head spinning in a similar way.

“Yeah, okay. Good idea, Pikey.”

“Alright. I’m gonna name some things that we could maybe do, and I want you to tell me want, will, or won’t, okay? I’ll tell you the same, and if you have an idea you can throw it out there too.” Scanlan nods; this is pretty familiar territory for him.

“Okay. Praise?”

“...Want.”

“Want also. I mean, I want to praise you, although if you want to say nice things about me I definitely won’t stop you. What about me giving you commands?”

“Want. I’d like if you told me to do stuff that you really want, not just things to keep me busy.”

“Okay, I can do that. That’s a want for me too. How do you feel about punishments? I will, but it’s not a strong want.”

“I... I want that, but. Only if I’ve really fucked something up, not just for the hell of it. But if I upset you, I need to earn it back.”

“Oh, Scanlan...” Pike sighs, and takes his hand again. “Okay, but only if you’ve  _ really _ messed up. I’d rather help you feel good.” Scanlan doesn’t know how to form words to express how much he adores Pike in this moment, so he drops his face to press a kiss to their intertwined fingers.

“And I’ll tell you right now, I won’t do humiliation. I know some people like it, but I wouldn’t feel good about saying those things to you.” Scanlan shakes his head in agreement.

Pike runs through a few more: bondage is a want, hair brushing a want, foot rubs are a will, nudity a will but they’ll save that for later if things are working out. Pain is also a maybe for later.

“That’s everything on my list for right now,” Pike concludes. “Anything else you want?”

“Would you mark me?” Scanlan asks, since if everything’s on the table he may as well go for it. “A bruise, or paint, or something I can wear. Something to remind me that I’m... that I’m yours. Even when we’re not doing...this.”

“I’d like that very much,” Pike says, voice low and a little possessive, sending frissons down Scanlan’s neck.

“Thank you.”

“One more thing, Scanlan. I need you to pick a safeword for if you need me to stop.” Scanlan considers for a moment.

“If I need you to stop, I’ll say Bigby,” he says with a wry grin. Pike giggles a little and nods, then stands and pulls Scanlan with her by their still joined hands.

“Let’s go to my room, then, I have something for you to do.” Scanlan nods, once again uncertain of his speech. They walk across the hall to Pike’s room with one of her callused hands curled around the nape of his neck, and he feels it like a brand.

Once she’s closed the door behind them, Pike leads Scanlan to the middle of the room, their feet sinking into her light blue rug.

“I’m going to tie a rope harness onto you, okay? Nothing to restrict your movement tonight, just something to remind you who you belong to. Would you like to keep your shirt on or off?” Staying fully clothed seems odd to him, too close to their usual interactions, and so he murmurs ‘off’, raises his arms when Pike gestures and lets her tug his shirt over his head. She lays it across the chest at the foot of her bed and goes to a trunk beneath her window, from which she pulls a coil of smooth silk rope. 

Scanlan meekly lets her adjust his arms and turn him this way and that as she winds rope around his chest and stomach, creating a loose weave across his pectorals and tightening it just enough that a light pressure remains when she ties off the pattern at the small of his back. Already he feels calmer, more relaxed. Something about letting Pike take charge feels inherently right and proper, as though he’s found the corner piece of a puzzle and everything else is falling into its rightful place.

Pike hooks a finger into the weave at the front of the harness and tows him over to her armor stand in the corner.  A small table beside it holds a jar of polish and several cloths. Scanlan thinks he sees where this is going, but he waits for Pike’s order.

“My armor needs polishing, Scanlan,” and he shudders a little at the command in her tone, that his obedience is assumed. “I’m going to read for a while. I expect you not to skimp on anything. You can ask me if you have any questions.”

“Yes, Lady Pike,” he murmurs, and she pats his cheek fondly before going to sprawl across her bedspread and pick up a dog eared novel. Scanlan dips a rag into the polish and sets to with a will. He’s not unfamiliar with the process, even though he doesn’t wear much armor himself, as armor maintenance is usually a communal activity when Vox Machina’s on the road. Pike’s plate armor has many pieces to care for, but she keeps it in pristine condition and so Scanlan doesn’t have much actual work to do on it. Nonetheless, he gives the process his full attention, satisfaction curling deep in his gut as he sets each pristine piece back onto the stand. Pike will look immaculate the next time she wears her armor, thanks to his efforts. He finds himself sinking into a meditative state, much like when he practices some really complicated music or learns a new spell.

Eventually he has scrubbed over each piece and can find no further flaws to buff out. He sets the last piece, the gorget, back onto the stand and steps back for a moment to admire his work, then calls out softly, “Lady Pike, I’ve finished.”

Pike stretches and yawns as she comes to inspect his efforts. She checks each piece with expert hands, grinning wider as she finds nothing to criticize.

“Well done, Scanlan. I’m very pleased.” Scanlan finds himself beaming and is almost surprised at how genuinely happy he is under Pike’s approval. She laughs suddenly and Scanlan looks around, uncertain of the joke until Pike reaches up and wipes at his face, then shows him her blackened finger.

“My armor is spotless, but I think all the dirt’s ended up on you,” she chuckles, and once more draws him along by the rope harness, this time to her washbasin. “Hold still,” she commands, and Scanlan does his best to impersonate a statue as Pike wets a cloth and carefully cleans first his face and then his arms, and lastly his hands, rubbing gently over the knuckles and between each finger. Scanlan shivers again at the intensity of being the focus of Pike’s full attention.

“May I do anything else for you this evening, Lady Pike?” he asks when it seems Pike has finished.

“Yes, thank you, Scanlan.” Pike pulls him over to her dressing table and sits down, handing Scanlan a soft bristled brush. “Go ahead and unpin my braids and brush my hair out for the evening. If you do well I may have you wash my hair later this week.” Scanlan sighs with genuine delight; handling Pike’s hair is a longtime fantasy of his. It looks so lovely and soft but Pike almost always has it meticulously pinned out of the way.

Careful not to yank at Pike’s scalp, Scanlan pulls what seems like nearly a hundred pins from the coiled updo, until at last the three distinct braids of the style tumble down Pike’s back past her waist. Setting the pins aside in their small tray on the dressing table, Scanlan reverently unplaits the braids as Pike sighs with pleasure, and begins to brush her hair in long strokes. Her hair is indeed soft, but not as fine as he imagined, the white strands sturdy but not coarse.

Scanlan thinks he might have continued to brush her hair for hours, sore arms be damned, but eventually Pike stops him with a firm hand on his wrist, takes the brush back from him and lays it on the dressing table, then rises back to her feet.

“Thank you, Scanlan. That was really lovely, you’ve been such a good boy for me.” Scanlan can feel himself flushing again, this time with pleasure rather than embarrassment. “How do you feel?”

“Wonderful,” he sighs, and means it with every fiber of his being. Thank Sarenrae for Pike, he thinks. He doesn’t know if he would ever have managed to ask for this himself, but now that Pike has started it Scanlan feels as peaceful as he ever has in his life. Sex was never what he needed from Pike, it seems, but rather this attention and care.

“I’m glad,” Pike says warmly. “I think we should both go to sleep soon, but first I have something for you. Kneel down, Scanlan.”

He drops to his knees without a moment’s hesitation, gazing up at Pike, who pets his hair again before going to a chest of drawers and returning with something gold in her hand.

“A marking, as you requested,” she says by way of explanation, and then her hands are affixing a golden band around his neck. It’s plain and unmarked and won’t draw notice amongst Scanlan’s other jewelry, but it has a weight and heft to it that makes it noticeable sitting against his clavicle.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes; then, with no further warning, he is crying outright, great wracking sobs that shake his whole body. Pike doesn’t seem to question it as he leans his head against her knees and cries like he hasn’t since- well, since his mother died. She just strokes his hair softly, and when his tears have begun to subside, she draws him up onto her bed, lays him on his side and spoons against his back, wraps her strong arms around him and holds him safe in her embrace.

“Good boy,” she whispers, “my wonderful Scanlan. That’s it, let it all out. You’re safe here with me. You’re mine and I won’t let anything harm you.”

“Pike,” his breath hitches, “ _ Pike. _ ”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

At last he thinks he’s cried himself out. He feels clean, bright, like he’s been scoured over and cleansed of garbage he didn’t even know he was still carrying with him.

“How are you now?” Pike asks.

“I’m good,” he says. “I’m... better than I’ve been in a while. Thank you, Pike.” She squeezes his hand reassuringly, and sits him up for a moment to undo the rope harness.

“Why don’t you spend the night?” she invites. “Just sleep here. I wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone right now.”

Scanlan nods fervently. “I’d like that a lot.”

Pike rises to stow the rope and bank the fire, blowing out most of the candles in the room save the bedside lamp with its tall glass chimney, then returns to cuddle close to Scanlan again. As sleep creeps in, Scanlan turns his head just enough to press his forehead to the side of Pike’s head.

“Pike?”

“Mmhmm?”

“You know I really do love you, right? You’re my family no matter what.”

Pike squeezes Scanlan a little tighter.

“I know. I love you too, Scanlan.”

It’s alright, Scanlan thinks as sleep takes him, if Pike never wants to be his lady love. This, Pike his friend who will take care of him like this, is more than he could ever have hoped for. This is more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to aunt-zelda, who encouraged me to write this and gave me the idea for a nonsexual D/s scenario.


End file.
